Shared Moments
by Jenn10
Summary: A brief look into unseen moments in the Summers household.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: "If you hurt her, I will beat you to death with a shovel." Oops, sorry, wrong   
one. Obviously, the show and its characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss, but then   
you already knew that. Just borrowing.  
  
Might add more 'moments', either between Spike and Buffy or between other characters.   
Review and let me know if you want them, kay?  
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Shared Moments   
  
He lets his hand rest on her shoulder, and is vaguely surprised when she doesn't   
shrug him off. He wishes he could see her face, but he is standing behind her chair, and   
doesn't dare move. She has allowed him to touch her, and the moment could end at any   
point. Besides, he knows her face. Knows every part of her. Her expression is the same,   
he is sure, as it always is these days. Calm and constant. Not glaring, not smiling.   
Deadpan, and the expression amuses him for a minute. Then his mind is focused   
completely back on her. It always comes back to her.  
  
She feels a hand descend on her shoulder, and she knows instantly who it is. She   
would know him anywhere. He stands close behind her, and his presence fills her senses   
for a moment. Another moment has passed before she realizes the hand is still there. And   
yet another before she realizes that she's okay with that. It's a simple gesture, just a small   
token of support, but it seems so important to her now. So often, she feels like her life is   
just a bad dream. Or maybe a psychotic episode, but she knows better than to allow   
herself thoughts like that. But for now, she knows she's really real. His hand is holding   
her to the world, and she feels overwhelmingly grateful. But her face never changes. Her   
expression remains steady, and she says nothing to him. Sometimes she thinks he's the   
only one holding her back from insanity, and she wishes she could tell him that.   
  
He can feel her strength, and he frowns a little at the tension in her muscles. Had   
it been last year, he might have convinced her to lie still for a while and let him give her a   
massage – and he was damn good at it – but it wasn't last year. Just the hand on her   
shoulder was a victory; a massage was pretty far out of the question. He wonders why no   
one else ever offers. He's seen her with the others, and knows from rare but memorable   
experience that she was pretty skilled with working out back tension herself. Her sister   
had once told him that she used to give the witch massages, back when she was   
attempting to give up majick. He's a little annoyed that the favor is never returned. This   
girl could definitely use it.  
  
She hears her name being called, and sighs softly. She knows he heard her, and   
can imagine the concern on his face without turning. His hand hasn't left her shoulder,   
and she suddenly feels so drained, she can't imagine rising from her chair. But the call   
comes again, and she attempts to draw on her last remains of energy. She can't remember   
if she slept today. Or ate, for that matter. A fleeting moment goes by where she almost   
asks him. It doesn't surprise her that she is nearly certain he would know. She realizes   
she still hasn't risen from her chair. He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and she feels   
better. Comforted. Without conscious thought, she reaches up and covers his hand with   
her own, holding his fingers for a moment. Neither speaks, and she stands, leaving to   
tend to whatever problem has arisen. He doesn't move, still lost in their brief but sweet   
moment. Then he turns and follows her, ready to offer advice and help. The moment was   
gone, but not forgotten. It seems so small, but he knows it's not. A touch of affection, of   
trust, given and returned, was far from small. It was everything. 


	2. Sisters

She steps into the room where her baby sister sleeps, and carefully eases the door   
closed. She's not really her baby sister; she's a teenager now, as old as she was when she   
started saving the world. Innocence doesn't last long when you live on a Hellmouth. But   
in sleep, there is peace. She kneels beside the bed, watching her sister breathe. Her face is   
so young, so sweet. She remembers sitting by the crib when she was younger, but of   
course that never happened. Funny. She can't imagine life without her sister. The room is   
somehow Potential-free for once, and she is glad. She couldn't sleep in her own room,   
couldn't stand to be around any of the others right now. All she wants to do is curl up   
with her little sister and whisper secrets and sing lullabies like they used to do when their   
parents were fighting all the time- but that never happened either. Stupid monks.  
  
Little sisters have a knack for knowing things they aren't supposed to. That's part   
of the reason she knows that her older sister sneaks into her room at night and watches   
her sleep. The other reason is that sometimes she hums the lullabies they used to sing, or   
talks to her, very softly so as not to wake her. And sometimes she cries. Through it all,   
she remains very still, letting her believe she still sleeps. Somehow she knows her sister   
isn't looking for someone to hug her and tell her it'll all be okay. She just needs a safe   
place. Some quiet moment where she can tell the truth without looking anyone in the eye.   
Where she can admit that she's afraid. Sometimes being a little sister is harder than   
researching ancient evil and learning funky languages.  
  
Being a Slayer has gotten her used to loneliness. She fights alone, no matter how   
many are by her side. That is probably why she is drawn to vampires, those creatures who   
share the precious night with her. Their power connects them to her, and she feels less   
empty. But when things are normal, she's at a loss. Eating breakfast, gossiping, shopping   
even. All make her feel like an outsider. But not with her sister. Someone so blissfully   
normal, yet incredibly special. Someone made from her. Someone she would give her life   
for, and has. She is young, though she's survived long for her profession, but she believes   
that very few can ever love anything with the depth that she loves her sister. She is the   
clearest, most important part of her life, and she prays she can somehow save her from   
the end one more time. Sometimes being a big sister is harder than saving the world and   
burying innocent girls.  
  
Through the night, two sisters slept, trusting only in their love for each other, and   
hoping only that they will both live to see one another again in the morning. It is a   
blessing they don't take for granted, every day they meet in the hall or the kitchen. They   
greet each other simply, and little is said to disclose the fear and relief they both feel. But   
they understand, without words. They look at each other for a moment, and silent   
reassurances are sent. They are both alive, and that is enough for them. They know better   
than to ask for more. They spend their days fighting a war, but they always find   
moments, just brief, bittersweet moments to just be sisters. Because that is what they're   
fighting for. Each other. 


	3. Chocolate Therapy

He heaves a heavy sigh and she turns, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. He holds up the cereal box with a look of resigned disappointment. It's Cinnamon Toast Crunch again, because majority rules and the majority is a bunch of teenage girls. She shakes her head at him, sipping her coffee with a smile. She doesn't bother to tell him, once again, that if he would go shopping then he could pick out the cereal he wanted. He knows. She watches him as he pours the offending cereal into the last clean bowl, still frowning. He begins searching through the fridge for the milk, which was left out on the counter after the most recent wave of Potentials passed through. She hands it to him, and he smiles at her, the cereal transgression already forgotten, to be rehashed with undaunted fervor tomorrow morning. What a marvel his mind is.   
  
They like to be in the kitchen in those rare moments when it's quiet. When they do find that luxury, they rarely speak. Silence, in this house, is truly golden. Besides, when you've known a person your entire life, voicing your thoughts isn't really necessary. They seem to know each other better than they know themselves. The fact that one or both of them might die soon is a harsh truth they like to ignore. They're good at ignoring the hard truths. They do live in Sunnydale, after all.   
  
He thinks life would be easier if he could just have his favorite cereal. The only problem is that his favorite happens to be Count Chocula, and several people in the ever-growing household refuse to allow it. Those people being: his favorite blond, his least favorite blond, his ex-fiancée, and some potential who would be kinda cute if she would quit griping about the horrors of chocolate breakfast cereal. As if Cinnamon Toast Crunch was any healthier.  
  
She has her own complaints about the living conditions here, but she is much more prone to keep them to herself. Even when she has to endure cold showers every day. She's not used to that, being an early riser. Certainly earlier than the nocturnal Slayer and moody teenager she's used to living with. Unfortunately, time differences and adrenaline have the potentials awake at mind-boggling hours. But then, it's not really fair to whine about cold showers when so much is going on.   
  
He never bothers to consider that in the grand scheme of things, breakfast cereal isn't that important. The way he sees it, as he frequently tells her, if the world is gonna end, they should be living in the here and now. One day at a time. Chocolaty goodness for breakfast, dammit!  
  
She just smiles that patient little smile, patting his arm in sympathy. She doesn't really care what they have for breakfast, but he does, and that's enough for her. It always has been. He sits at the counter, eating the cereal he hates as he tells her very seriously exactly why said cereal should be banned from all the shelves in all the stores in all the world. Hyper potentials with too much sugar in their systems is a recurring theme. She nods as he goes on, and suddenly she is struck by how much they've changed, and how much they've stayed the same. Because she knows that both are true, and the thought scares her a little.   
  
They are alone in the kitchen for no more than ten minutes or so, but they don't really mind when their peace is disrupted. Or when he is called away to the living room to fix the leg of the coffee table, knocked out of place by some random teenage mishap. She is summoned upstairs to help with the other girls, and with the errands and work to be done, they won't see each other again until they both end up in the kitchen that evening, trying to fix some kind of dinner for everyone. Rather, she will be fixing dinner, while he sits on the counter, blissfully inhaling the box of Count Chocula she managed to sneak in for him. As they joke and tease each other, she feels an almost desperate love for him, and for a moment she can barely breathe for fear of losing him someday soon. Then he catches sight of her worried expression, and tosses a piece of his coveted cereal at her, chiding her to lighten up. His expression is not his goofy grin, but rather a sad, sweet little smile that says, to her who knows him best, what he can't say. He understands, and he loves her too. She smiles back, and ruffles his hair affectionately on her way past. They know that there are very few problems on earth that chocolate and best friends can't solve. 


End file.
